Long Appalls Poems
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A spider was climbing my walls,
The size of it truly appalls,
I’m certain it’s a lass,
With a kardashian a ss,
I couldn’t spy male spider balls!
I shouted for my hubby to come,
He gasped at that huge spiders bum,
But my old Henry hoover,
Just couldn’t remover her,
I’m screaming Help I want my mum!
My p ussy cat eyed up the spider,
She wanted this beastie insider her,
Huge spider is walking,
Cat’s expert at stalking,
She corners it by my step strider
As Tiddles is superb at pouncing,
That spider got a severe trouncing,
And now it is dead,
What more can be said,
The death of spider I’m announcing
For Julie thanks for the inspiration. bb xx
09/02/11/
I
Hear the bouncing of the balls--
Basketballs!
What a sound of merriment they cause when each ball falls!
How they echo, echo, echo,
Inside the gymnasium walls,
Arriving at a crescendo
While the spectators shout “Bravo!”
Drowning the referee’s calls;
And the players start
To make their last dart
Amidst the reverberation ricocheting off the stalls
From the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
From the bouncing and the dribbling of the balls.
II
Hear the ticking of the balls,
Ping-pong balls!
What a soft and easy sound comes from their bounce and rolls!
In the crowded room that’s bright
How they fill it with delight!
Like the ticking of a clock,
Steady but fast,
Or the picking of a lock,
What tune they make with their ceaseless tick-tock,
Until at last--
Oh, what a miss that appalls
The audience that has remained speechless in the halls
How it falls!
How it scrolls!
And the erring player rolls
His fists at his own pitfalls
By the swinging and his missing
To hit the balls, balls, balls
The balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
To hit the light and small and saffron ping-pong balls!
III
Hear the loud thud of the balls--
Volleyballs!
What feeling of suspense is caused by their great falls!
Across the nets stretched tight
How they gracefully take flight!
The watchers anticipating,
Who would win they keep waiting,
Breathlessly.
Until the umpire from his platform blows a long shrill whistle,
And the balls drop on the ground like useless heads of missile.
Then tempers start to bristle
In the air there is a rustle
From both player and spectator
To win the set or never
Hold the trophy covetously.
Oh, the balls, balls, balls--
"Pick them up!" the umpire bawls.
Once again
The balls are hit, tossed, and passed
And the game goes on full blast
While the players on each side dare not complain
Yet the audience fully knows
By the spiking
And the digging
How the game would sooner close.
Who would be covered in palls
Suffer beating,
‘Cause of losing,
And forced to receive catcalls
For dismally failing to score and keep afloat the balls,
The volleyballs--
The volleyballs, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
In the scrambling and the spiking of the balls!
March 18, 2023
You did something more than stupid
You did something more than vile
Don’t expect any sympathy in my eyes
No ‘well y’know’ smile?
From this point I don’t know you
From now onwards I can’t stand by your side
Years I’ve covered for you, lies I’ve swallowed like wine
But this.....this appalls and sickens me - your miles out of line!
You broke more than rules, you sank to the bottom this time
You stole something precious, you killed the perfect smile, you hurt someone beautiful, cast the shadows of fear in her eyes.
She was everything of an angel, kind hearted and so full of life.
Every ounce of the good in her contrasted with the bad behind your eyes.
You hurt what is beautiful......for no reason but selfish pride. You replaced beauty with fear, made her beg for your fists or herself to die.
You broke something beautiful
You made beautiful die
In this abyss, where senses fade,
A labyrinth of fears, eyes stick to spade
A choice self-made, a soul betrayed,
In pale moonlight, a tearful price is paid
Man without a shrine, longing for time,
A barren altar, with no falter, heart in chains,
Death’s embrace, leaves no trace,
Echoes remain, whispering in pain.
Silence.
No more pain.
In bleakest dreams, her face indiscernibly appears,
A vision born of unshed tears,
I reach for her, but grasp cold air,
A love denied, beyond compare.
On this labyrinth of thought, I roam,
A mindscape built in my own dome,
Each twist and turn, a memory’s sting,
Forever lost, with no returning.
Walls closing in, a suffocating hold,
Lost in echoes, stories untold,
A prisoner of my own design,
In this solitude, I resign in forever decline.
Yet surrounded by walls, a thought appalls,
A spark of hope amidst the pain,
To break my bound chain, to find the door,
And leave this darkness evermore.
Shadows lingers in these walls,
Stick to spade it seems,
I gather faith from vivid dreams,
Every second, a chance to rise,
Painting new colors of these skies.
And so I stand, under the moonlight,
Embracing shadows, seeking light,
In very dawn, a chance to mend,
A journey forward, without end
Though scars remain, to testament of faith,
To battles fought with strength,
I find solace in this quiet space,
Of a soul awakened, it its place
Why do people refuse
to be nice to each other
this is what confounds
and confuses me the most
especially in these times
of ever growing technology
social graces
have gone out the door
so much so that
people hardly chat anywhere
other than online
pleasant people are the anomaly
if you get to see people’s eyes at all
usually a vacant and blank stare
is what you see
Even people as they
approach their final curtains
don’t even seem to be conscious
of their greedy self-centered
inconsiderate and uncaring
selfish manners beyond excuse
do they really believe
it’s too late to change their ways
and gamble they won’t have to atone
some day soon
for their miserable attitudes
Apathy has become a trend
that appalls and behooves me
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on July 1, 2018 for contest QUIRKY THINGS THAT CONFOUND AND CONFUSE ME sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER - RANKED 1ST
And I lay myself down upon the lifeless patch to somehow contemplate
Looking at the darken Heaven before me… my darkness awaits
My personality has redefine me in an unrecognised absolution
Of my world, of The Ancients… who am I in definition?
It took me so long to find a place in my world as today
How I wonder, can my salvation be found anymore anyway?
And I took to the skies, beyond all of which that matters most
Is there anymore this one dream… I am to feel fairly as close}
My thoughts were left with dreams
Thinking of Ei-rian and of the forsaken words
What more is life of mine to mean?
Is my time not bestowed enough of the weird?
With memories channeling me always to the distance
My once life as Knight of the Word, I’m never to forget
Yet in relative to my mortality, I’m fuelled with reasons
To be doubtful in most every way for morrows to regret
Alkaiya whom now I’m free to love, but I cannot
For the greater good if ever to have exist if not at all
Battles of the mind, forever is another war be fought
I wonder if goodness in exchange is worth fighting for?
Rather to fear for Ei-rian then the laws of Heaven
Her casualness appalls me in ways indecipherable and unknown
If only memories have had its way to simply unlearn!
My guess would be either here or there, I will no longer be lone!
Where is real to really be considered reality?
Is everything an illusion, as well for love to feel?
Was there a yesterday as of today to have a moment?
Where is the time whence to know… I knew…
……………………………………………
Go not into the room beyond these walls
where some have gone, for mystery enthralls
the curious. . . but know there lies therein
a spirit cursed who suffers no chagrin,
who propagates the murder he recalls.
For when the moon is full and evening falls,
a din perhaps is heard. . .The phantom hauls
a corpse along the floor while moon peeps in.
Go not into the room.
They say when one goes in, that demon calls
the name of the intruder; then befalls
a likely death. . . he’s never seen again.
The ghost stands at the window with a grin,
a sight of unrepentance that appalls.
Go not into the room.
Excitement is brewing for the play-off game,
who to claim a podium close-up fame,
winner of 2018 21st FIFA World Cup's name.
Scheduling and planning their dream
to cheer on their favorite team.
Fans at the game watching united,
dressed in their lucky sports team attire, delighted,
cold, getting rained on, and excited.
Television armchair football enthusiast
muttering, "C-o-o-l call. Revenge at last."
He follows every move, wishing he was there,
but at home watching on his big screen, a bear.
Everyone in the stadium is bouncing off the walls,
inspiring cheers and rants, raves and calls.
While the Armchair enthusiast with his own calls,
within his walls his soul appalls.
The hero standing in the middle of a melee, with a thin
breeze around the football field, using a Cruyff Turn spin,
then brilliantly threading the ball home winning
the World Cup for his country. It’s only the beginning.
6/25/2018
The championship has been awarded every four years since the inaugural tournament in 1930 for except in 1942 and 1946 when it was not held because of the Second World War, a global war that lasted from 1939 to 1945.
Poetry Contest: 2018 World Cup
Sponsored By: Mark Toney
There’s no decorum or respect
Within the White House walls
And cameras let us witness
Some behavior that appalls.
Invite a foreign dignitary
Then berate, insult, accuse –
That’s the playbook for a bully
Desperate to be in the news.
Why would any other country,
After seeing that display,
Send a leader, knowing he or she’d
Be treated in that way?
Every day brings more examples
Of outrageousness and shock
Which, at one time, simply seemed like
Acts of bluster we would mock.
But the stakes have gotten higher
And if all the guardrails fail,
Someday writing such a poem just might
Have me end up in jail.
Fast as an atomic banshee, he roils sacred halls
of White House clutches levers with brass balls
American powers remain unrestrained when he calls
Armada to exorcise imagine aery dragons,
he inarticulately falls
non-communicative, faux eruditely generative,
and heartily galls
toward this introspective kickstarter male,
and most likely others he appalls.
-------------------------------------------------
My inner guru hankers to share voice
amidst increasing din
and clamors in reaction to insidious machinations fin
hushed via Machiavellian offal prince,
who unleashes clout with Cheshire grin
unconcerned about population, chaste,
from their wells Fargo wing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Most every citizen banker, and kin
stared down vis a vis fierce-some intimations
catapult escalating, spin
laughing at rigged voting outlook
gratefully inflicts populace with monstrous win
doomsday soldiers -
art of the deal book not writ by said urchin.
-------------------------------------------------
Though regularly affiliated with top notch
kudos to virtual soapbox platform
re: all poetry to express Bing averse
toward ill feted Barron settlement
of United States government tossed like scotch
on thar hocks, thus an uneasy angst
also invisibly grabs me by the crotch
cuz das Trump power monger,
I fear rubric of democracy, he will botch!
-------------------------------------------------
This poem alternately titled -
harbinger of political debacle wolf find antipode
where toxic brew at crack of 12 a.m.
January 20th 2017 doth bode
doctored pregnant swollen tidal anarchistic military toad
deeds sheepishly shape into battalions
in tandem - fraternal order of police erode
Civilian protesters unite with ordinary citizen bankers
crowdsource sing metallic ca clash to goad
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